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by Sypha 2 months ago in sad poetry


I get out of bed

Soon as my feet hit the floor

I sink in over my head

And I just feel out numbered

There’s no one around

But someone’s pushing me round

Wish there was someone to call

Just a recorded voice for every thousand

I’m used to doing things alone

Stubborn when it comes to extra hands

It all feels so messy, to many demands

Micromanaging everything I planned

Reverse psychology is their favorite

Contradictions formed on both sides

Making me weary and eventually I cave

Words seem a different language than I speak

I hate being wasteful in any situation

Having to do with food or money

Clothes as well as old things still working

Most of all time, I hate wasting time

I keep my routine set on being productive

I am busy, but isn’t every workaholic?

I must fill every second of the day

Preferred where I least have to explain

There’s only the moment I get out of bed

That moment fills me with dread

In that moment I feel every crushing weight

In that moment I most times want to break

For a moment, but it’s just a moment

I press through to do a million things

If I’m busy, always busy, never sitting

Then I’m fine


sad poetry


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